


It's Only a Paper Moon

by Meddalarksen



Category: X-Men (Comicverse), X-Men (Movies), X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, M/M, Mostly just Kurt musing, Not really any actual shipping going on here, One-Sided Relationship, Or at least perceived as such
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-31
Updated: 2012-12-31
Packaged: 2017-11-23 02:30:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/617102
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meddalarksen/pseuds/Meddalarksen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Always willing to flirt, Kurt Wagner has no problem taking beautiful people to bed.  It's only after his lover is asleep, when he's alone with his thoughts and the room is dark that he doubts his behavior.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's Only a Paper Moon

Kurt watched as his latest lover, Christine, slept.  He reached out and brushed a lock of her brown hair away from her face.  He sighed and considered simply getting up, but also didn’t want to wake her.  There was a chance that they could make this work, at least for a while.  These things never did last, but even for a time.  Even finding people at a bar where everyone was either a mutant or accepting of them wasn’t that simple.  A one night stand wasn’t worth the effort to ease the other person into his bed into an awareness of what he actually looked like, but the image inducer was not an option—his fur could still be felt as could his tri-dactyl hands.  It didn’t really matter, often his partner was the one to walk out which saved him having to do it in the end.  It might not be after the first night, or even the fifth, but invariably one of them would decide it wasn’t working and they would go their separate ways.

His gold eyes drifted back to Christine and he shook his head.  No, this wouldn’t work either.  He knew that going in—he always knew it going in though it had grown more apparent in recent years.  Kurt could be rather indiscriminate if someone would have him: men, women, brunets, redheads, the only line he drew was blonde women.  He just couldn’t handle that.  Jimaine, foster sister, first love, one of his first lovers, there were too many memories tied up in his dark fur against blonde hair.  It had nothing to do with build or eye color in that situation, there was something about the golden locks twined around his fingers, a yellow river cutting across the night-dark palms.  He had come to find a preference for darker hair recently, regardless.

Depending on what Christine said in the morning, they could certainly give it a try.  He expected them to last all of a week, two maybe, three at most.  They surely wouldn’t make it a month.  She was too kind, too beautiful.  On the other hand, she hadn’t been in with friends so he knew this hadn’t been on a bet or a dare—oh that had happened on more than one occasion but he learned to live with that.  Make a go of it or not, they would go their separate ways in short order, he did rather hope they could part amicably at least.  He still spoke with most of the people he’d slept with, drank with a few, and fought alongside a couple as well.

Carefully rising, Kurt pulled on his boxers and moved silently through the room, gathering Christine’s clothes and folding them.  Setting them on a chair near the bed he stepped back, catching a glimpse of himself in the mirror.  Or rather, he caught a glimpse of his eyes—the room was in deep enough shadow that the rest of him vanished.  There were reasons he kept the lights on when in bed with someone; they could often deal with his appearance, but that secondary level to his mutation was hardly reassuring.  No matter how much he wished to shut the lamp off and hide his appearance, pretend for a few minutes that he was somehow normal he wouldn’t do that to his partner.

His hand closed around the collar of Christine’s leather coat and he picked it up, considering it.  Damn, and he’d been doing so well that night too.  Leather was the last thing he wanted to be feeling, smelling.  At least the scent that accompanied the leather was feminine—a masculine scent coiling within it might well have made him leave before his partner woke.  It was just a reminder.  He had realized that he’d been getting into a pattern recently and Christine was a hope to break it.  Some part of him felt despicable for using her to forget, and God alone knew how dirty he felt for some things he did.  He hated doing this, in the end it only hurt the other person and he loathed that fact, but he didn’t know what else to do.

He’d come to terms with who he was, inside and out, several years before, but the object of his desires?  That was not something he was inclined to let on.  He’d taken far too many dark-haired men to his bed in the past months and he always felt worse in the morning when he left their side and returned to the mansion.  To reach the place he called home, joke with his friends, smile, laugh, and go on as though nothing was different and he was simply their friend and brother-in-arms.  Ororo knew.  She always seemed to figure things out about him, so it was usually easier just to tell her.  He was also certain that at least a couple of the telepaths knew, but they were kind enough not to speak it aloud.  And if Storm offered him a slow shake of her head when he left a bar with a man six inches shorter than himself, or with blue eyes, or black hair, or who had been smoking steadily for the last hour—never cigarette smoke—he pretended not to see it. 

He looked into the mirror again and sighed, his fangs visible beneath the golden orbs.  If he could just lie to himself hard enough, he could make this work.  Christine was a lovely woman, and they could make it for a while.  Maybe they would prove him wrong and they’d even make more than a month.  And maybe, just maybe, he could get his mind off of a certain snarly black-haired teammate.


End file.
